


Never Love a Wild Thing

by Kawaiicoyote



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feral Behavior, I Don't Even Know, I'm sorry my tags are horrible, M/M, Stiles wants to be brave, slow build I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:05:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/pseuds/Kawaiicoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is the thing that goes bump in the night. He's what parents warn their children about. He is Beacon Hills own persoal boogey man that roams the preserve.<br/>Stiles Stilinski just wants to be the cool kid for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stroll Through the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just came out of nowhere. I'm pretty sure I know what direction I'm going in but PLEASE bear with me on this.  
> I own nothing. I really should get a beta reader at one point.

Derek Hale is more of a legend in Beacon Hills. You hear his named being whispered every so often by the townspeople who have nothing better to do than gossip. But you never actually _see_ the man the name belongs to.

He’s morphed into something of a boogey man, something that goes bump in the night. He’s something that parents tell their unruly and rebellious teenagers about so they don’t sneak into the preserve at night to fornicate and bring in the next generation of _16 and Pregnant_.

Stiles never takes the stories about the man serious. About the man who went crazy at the age of 16 when his entire family burned alive in a horrible house fire that left him the only survivor. Who took to living off the land of Beacon Hills Preserve despite being a minor and crazed out of his mind with grief.

Stiles thinks he’ll never take any of the stories seriously as he crosses the chain that ropes off the back entrance, deep in the middle of the preserve with a miniature flashlight clasped between his lips. The thing barely gives off any light and flickers hopelessly, the pinprick of light illuminating from it dulling then coming back to its full brightness like the batteries are finally going out. It’s not much but Stiles would rather have it than nothing at all, the flash light app on his phone being last resort so he can save the battery.

It’s a cloudy night and the moon slides in and out of the clouds, giving bursts of silver light that barely filters in through the trees. It’s creepy, Stiles realizes the further he ventures in. And the dense fog that’s already slinking around his ankles isn’t helping the overall creepiness of it.

But he’s determined to not be a pussy and back out of his little adventure. None of the other students of Beacon Hills High dare to step foot in the placealone during the _day_ let alone at night. He hopes that doing this will help him earn rank in the hellish hierarchy that is high school. That he’ll suddenly transform from too tall clumsy sheriffs kid with a bit of baby fat still left to his face into something more desirable. A badass. Someone that has more than a snowballs chance in hell at catching Lydia Martin’s eye.

The thought alone is enough to have him traipsing in deeper. Deeper than his common sense is comfortable with. But common sense and Stiles Stilinski have never really seen eye to eye, so he ignores that little inkling in the back of his mind and presses on, his canvas clad feet making too much noise in the too still forest.

It takes him another thirty minutes of walking to acknowledge the face that he’s completely and utterly lost, even though he thought he’d been walking in a straight line the entire time. But with a quick circle and look around he comes to terms that nothing looks familiar in the slightest other than it looks like trees, lots and lots of trees and bushes and shrubs that look exactly the same no matter how long he stares and squints at them. For a brief moment he wonders why he never stuck with Boy Scouts, but remembers he _hated_ the little khaki shorts that were mandatory with the uniform. His father was none too happy with having to pay for the uniform when Stiles declared his hatred for them by pouring a whole can of lighter fluid onto them and tossing a match onto them. It was totally worth being a 10 year old with no eyebrows for a month and being grounded for even longer. Being a slightly destructive kid came with its ups and downs. He smiles fondly at the memory of dancing around his flaming uniform in the back yard with a screeching prepubescent war cry echoing into the night and his eyebrows stinging, not caring in the slightest how his next door neighbor nearly fainted while she clutched her golden cross to her chest like he was the devil when she peeked out her window to see what all the commotion was about.

His thoughts are enough to fend off the initial panic of being lost, in the basically forbidden woods, with absolutely nobody knowing where he is.

It’s not exactly a lie when he said he was just going out for a while to Scott’s. More of a fib really. Because he did go out, and to Scott’s. But quickly found himself being cast out into the night by his numero uno home skillet because said best sucky ass friend had the house alone and was litterly shaking the bed as he and Allison humped like bunnies. Loud, porn rivaling bunnies. Stiles hadn’t so much as been cast out as fled for his life with his hands over his ears.

Then of course boredom set in and boredom does not mix well with ADHS. In fact it mixes about as well as common sense does.

With his shoulders slumping in defeat Stiles plops himself down onto a fallen tree, yelping when the soft rotted wood caves the slightest bit beneath his weight.

He squirms carefully and settles and props his elbows on his thighs and sighs, his breath creating a puff of translucence in front of his face.

Stiles is not stupid, just not the brightest lightbulb in the tanning bed. He cringes at the comparison before shaking his head to try and focus. He knows he needs to stay level headed, or as level headed as can be, and figure out how to get out of the woods _without_ breaking down and calling bid daddy sheriff to the rescue.

Because that would not only involve his father, but would most likely involve most of the deputies on duty as well as search dogs and possibly some of the volunteer firefighters as a search posse. And that would be just downright embarrassing, especially since he knows for a fact it would get around to his school and he can just kiss his sweet ass goodbye for a chance with Lydia, ever.

So wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until a twig snaps. The sound echoes loudly in the heavy silence and Stiles meeps, in the manliest way possible of course, head snapping up to where the sound came from.

He squints his eyes at the big black shadow that looms a few feet away, just out of his vision really. He swings his flashlight around towards it and then his mouth goes completely dry when the pitiful beam of light lands on a pale dirty, handsome as fuck chiseled jaw sharp enough to cut cheekbones and oh, people aren’t supposed to have glowing red eyes.

Stiles screams when flashlight does in fact die and leaves them both in complete darkness save for the two red pinpricks of light where the other dudes eyes were.

He screams because not only is he pretty sure that the man before him is none other than _the_ legendary Derek Hale, but because he’s pretty sure Derek Hale is the goddamned boogey man like everyone had said he was.

 


	2. Rabbit Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying that Stiles is fleeing for his life is not an exaggeration for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd go ahead and upload what I have of this in one go. Perk some interest and hope people like it.

Saying that Stiles is fleeing for his life is not an exaggeration for once.

He plunders through the dense underbrush and claws at the low hanging branches that get in his way. It’s a clear indicator that he’s going the _wrong way_ , but in his panic induced state he can’t grasp at a coherent thought long enough to realize this.

Just like how he should have thought about that running is a terrible, very terrible idea. It’s like running from a dog or a bear or some other carnivorous beast. Simply, if you run you become prey, and they will give chase.

Panic courses through him as he stumbles and trips over roots and rotting logs. He’s near hysterical when he catches the sound of something running behind him over the steady roaring pulse in his ears and his ragged breathing.

The moment of distraction is enough that he doesn’t notice the jagged broken limb sticking up from a long fallen tree. He realizes as soon as it connects with his shin though.

It’s sharp enough to tear right through his jeans with using his own momentum. He can _hear_ the rough bark rip into his skin and nearly chokes on his spit when pain radiates through his entire leg.

But he doesn’t have time to access the damage or really look at it because in the next moment a heavy weight is barreling into him, snarling with hot moist breath next to his ear, and take him down onto the forest floor.

Stiles is caught between pretending to play dead, mostly out of shock, and fighting like a rabid dog. His brain decides to fight since his flight technique had ended horribly. But his _fighting_ is more just kicking and flailing and screaming his ever loving lungs out like a banshee from hell. His fists and legs mostly make contact with the ground since he’s been knocked face down but then a rough hot hand cups the back of his neck and then a snarl overpowers his shrieking.

He goes limp like a switch has been flipped in his head, whimpering miserably out of fear, his heart jack rabbiting in his chest.  To the point that he wonders if he could actually go into cardiac arrest.

Stiles slams his eyes shut, breathe sticking in his throat, and mentally kisses the world goodbye. Because he just _knows_ this is the end, that mister growly freaky boogeyman is going to put an end to his sixteen and quarter short years of existence in the universe. Briefly he wonders why his life isn’t flashing in a multicolor whirlwind behind his eyelids.

The thought only lasts a moment and then goes flying out the window when the older man freaking _lays_ on top of his, his more impressive weight pressing him down into the dirt, pushing what little breath he had out of his lungs. Even through his clothes, Derek feels like a living breathing inferno.

He isn’t expecting the rough fingers to leave the nape of his neck, but is even less so when a warm wet tongue laps at the spot behind his ear. A strangled cry flounders it’s way passed Stiles lips and he squirms beneath Derek.

“Th-the hell…” Stiles wheezes, Derek’s weight atop him leaving very little room for proper breathing let alone speaking.

Instead of forming an actual reply, Derek growls, literally growls, like a dog or well more like a wolf, right behind his ear. Goosebumps erupt along Stiles’ arms and it takes everything in him to repress a shiver that tries to make its way up his spine.

He closes his eyes tight and tries to lay as still as possible as Derek continues to lap at his skin.

For the tiniest moment Stiles thinks that Derek is done with his neck when the hot tongue leaves him but the dread races through him when teeth, a bit to freaking sharp to be humanly, latch onto the back of his neck and clamps down just enough to break the skin.

Stiles hisses and fists his hands into the dirt, getting the soil wedge into his nails. Any other time he would have made a face, but right then it just feels grounding.

A deep growl, bordering on a snarl, leaves Derek, his fangs still in Stiles’ flesh. It’s a sound that echoes around them and vibrates through Derek’s chest right into Stiles’ back.

The troubling thing is he’s starting to find it not exactly unpleasant. He squirms despite common sense, beginning to feel suffocated and uncomfortable and too hot in such proximity to the thing that goes bump in the night.

His squirming only results in Derek clamping down harder onto his scruff and grinding his hips flush against his skinny ass. Stiles freezes beneath him when he feels the hardness of Derek digging against him.

“No bad touch! No bad touch!” Stiles shouts out a tremor of hysteria to his voice, making it shrill and rushed.

The man pauses, his lips going slack against his neck a millisecond before he rips himself away from Stiles, like the words finally registers.

Stiles wastes only a moment and rolls himself over onto his back, breathing raggedly like he’s just run a marathon and stares up, some of the sky and stars briefly showing through the canopy of trees before the clouds swallow them whole again.

When the silence stretches Stiles blinks, breath finally calm and even, and lifts his head up to see Derek hunkered against a tree. He looks at Stiles and for the life of him he can’t figure out what the look means. In the zero nonexistent light of the forest Stiles could swear that Derek looks confused and maybe even hurt.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then something or someone, many somethings or someones, are crashing through the forest nearby. He can see the flashlight beams coming through the trees and hear the voices shouting his name.

Derek lets loose a feral growl, lips curling back to bare his fangs at all the commotion and eyes wide, wild and radiating red from their sockets. The sounds get closer and Stiles stays quiet, voice and breath stuck in his throat as he watches Derek snarl like a cornered dog, fearing that he’s going to attack whoever’s calling his name.

But then Derek’s unholy red eyes land on him and his expression drops from enraged to blank, just staring at him. And then he’s gone, breaking through the woods inhumanly quiet.

Stiles groans and thunks his head back against the ground.

He’d confused and cold. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t scared and even more so if he pretended that he wasn’t kind of turned on by the brief bad touch rutting his skinny little ass received. The thought makes him groan with embarrassment and confuses him even more.

But the one vividly clear thing that he’s absolutely painfully sure of about the whole night, as his dad’s face looms over him with a flashlight shining in his face and deputies gathering around him, is that whatever snowball’s chance in hell he ever though he had with Lydia will be squashed and mutilated by homeroom in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope everyone is enjoying what they've read.  
> Updates will be kind of sporadic, and I apologize about that. But I haven't forgotten about anyone!  
> Let me know what you think so far.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments would be lovely!   
> I would really appreciate feedback and kind words!


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